Magic Tricks
by elicitillicit
Summary: What Grandpa Vernon doesn't know won't kill him, so here's hoping that the One World fanatics won't do anything too drastic - like completely ignore the International Statute of Secrecy during the year that I'm trying to captain my house team to Quidditch glory. I'm Blair Dursley. Ironic is my middle name.
1. The Blair Witch

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs. Everything that you recognise belongs to J K Rowling. **

* * *

_Al was going to _die_. First his eyes would bulge out of their sockets, then he'd choke on his own spit as he tried to breathe through his horror and mortification, and then he'd keel over and end himself. Slowly. Excruciatingly. He'd dig his wand out of his back pocket and impale himself on it. It wouldn't work, because that's not exactly the most effective way to use a wand, but, fuck. He'd do it. He'd try. And if the agony was too much for him, I'd be the kindest cousin in the world by ripping his wand from his skinny little chest and sticking it right up his – _

"Blair, darling? Are you quite alright?"

Play it cool. Play it fucking freezing.

"I'm good, Mum," I answered, trying to sound offhand and casual. "Just got good news, is all."

My mother cautiously put her fork down and cast an anxious glance over at my father, who was doing a commendable job of ignoring the owl that was placidly helping itself to his toast. "From… School?"

Daddy made a noise that was halfway between a grunt and a squeak.

I repressed the urge to roll my eyes as I clenched my fist tighter around my shiny new badge. "Yeah. Look, Mum. D'you mind if I head down to the Potters' house for a bit? I know I said I'd help trim the hedge with you, but I can get that done in a trice at night when no one is looking, anyways."

Dad put his fork down and sighed, rubbing his face. Mum cleared her throat nervously. "Of course, darling. Go right on ahead."

Beaming, I slid Daddy's plate from under the beak of the indignant owl, tossed said owl out into the bright morning, snagged my Hogwarts letter and wand from the table, blew an air kiss at my parents, and ran into the living room, where I Disapparated with a loud _crack_.

* * *

I was already hollering for Al when I landed in his family's foyer. A collection of groans sounded in response in the direction of the kitchen, so I thundered right over.

All the Potters were gathered around the kitchen table in varying degrees of awakeness – Lily was happily spooning Magic Charms into her mouth, James was already dressed for the day, but he was conked out and drooling on the table, Uncle Harry was in the middle of a tremendous yawn, and Al… Al was glaring at his Hogwarts letter like it had fucking stolen his firstborn.

"Morning, Potters!" I plunked myself down beside Al and ruffled his hair cheerfully. This heralded another chorus of mumbling moans – Aunt Ginny was the only whose greeting was actually coherent.

She waved a spoon at me from her place beside Uncle Harry, gesturing towards a stack of pancakes in the middle of the table. "G'morning, Blair. Have a pancake. Or ten. What brings you here all bright and early?"

I grinned at her and nudged Al with my shoulder. He had to pay attention to this. He grumbled and narrowed his eyes at me.

I slowly opened my fist to reveal a gleaming, silver Quidditch Captain badge.

There was a heartbeat of silence before Al threw his head back and _howled_.

James jerked upright in his chair, almost spilling his juice. "_Expeli_\- Oh. Blair. _Woah_. _Blair_." Smirking at Al, he summoned the syrup from across the table. "Tough luck, little Asp."

Al flipped him off while continuing with his little tantrum.

Harry squinted at the badge in my hand before smiling broadly at me. "Congratulations, Blair. How's Dudley taking it?"

I shrugged. It wasn't like Daddy actually knew what Quidditch was. Uncle Harry made a sympathetic noise and summoned me a plate.

Al had stopped howling and was now trying to take the badge from me by force. He almost collided with the plate flying through the air, and would have if I hadn't snatched it as it was inches from his face. I set it down, right next to my own Hogwarts letter, and shoved him back into his chair.

Lily watched us with interest. "Looks like you're just going to have to be cool with Head Boy, Al."

James sniggered at this as he drizzled syrup liberally onto his pancakes. "I can't believe that you're actually _disappointed _that you didn't get both."

Al made a sound of anguish and hunched over his breakfast. It was then that I noticed a glint of silver peeking out from under a napkin. "I didn't want _both_. I just wanted to be Quidditch Captain." He pushed the serving plate of pancakes over to me with a scowl. "Thief. We're going to lose the cup this year. Lose it to fucking Gryffindor."

Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny both coughed loudly, and I couldn't help but giggle. _Circe's tits_, Al was _such _a snake. "Love you too, Al."

He grunted, and I began forking pancakes onto my plate.

Thing is, I _do _love Al, and he loves me. Not in that fuckshit inbred creepy kind of way, but in the _bro, I got you,_ kind of way. After years of awkward Christmas get-togethers with our fathers sitting in silence as we laid out train tracks on the living room carpet, Al and I finally had something in common: magic. We were practically joined at the hip during our first shopping trip to Diagon Alley, and that bond only solidified once both of us were sorted into Slytherin. Apparently, I was the first muggleborn to be sorted into Slytherin in _centuries_, and there had been some unpleasantness during my first week. Al, Scorpius Malfoy and I were kind of the Slytherin misfits that banded together over being ostracised (Scorp's dad had been a death-eater and people didn't really know how to deal with that either) for much of the first year until people got used to us and realised that the three of us were really fucking awesome.

Vernon Dursley's granddaughter: Hogwarts Queen. Not that he knows, of course. We decided that it was best that grandpa Vernon and grandma Petunia not know that their little Bearhug is a witch.

When McGonagall came to tell my parents that I was a magical child, my father got extremely pink extremely fast and flipped the fuck out.

It was a pretty good thing that Uncle Harry had come along for the ride, because he _knew _how he was going to react. Dudley Dursley was tolerant of his cousin's magic – and there was an undertone of ashamed gratefulness that always struck me as curious – but his own child being magical was something else entirely.

My mother was clearly at a loss as to what to do while my father paced about the living room in a state of agitation while patting his arse, so Uncle Harry basically took me under his wing and glued Al to me. He'd taken both Al and I to Diagon Alley to get our school stuff – starting a tradition of me doing pre-school shopping with the Potters every year – and sat me down, telling me to be patient with Daddy. It wasn't easy to for the son of the greatest muggle alive to handle having a magical child.

I understood that. I was always a little bit of a daddy's girl growing up – my mother was pretty much nervous all the time, and I was loud, a bit of a tomboy, and outgoing. Daddy channelled my boundless energy into sports: I took to tennis, swimming, and lacrosse like a doxy to a curtain.

There was only one sport at Hogwarts, and I took to that, too.

During my first Christmas holiday back home, Daddy invited Uncle Harry and his family over for dinner as a sort of thank-you for dealing with my magic for him. Uncle Harry noted that the start of my Hogwarts career was nothing short of tremendously ironic: I was a muggleborn sorted into Slytherin, I was doing well in classes, and I was flying like a fucking pro (for an eleven-year old).

Daddy had nodded, mumbled about how glad he was that I was doing well in school, and offered Uncle Harry more port.

Thing is, I know that Daddy's proud of me, in his own way. I mean, what parent wouldn't be pleased that their kid is doing well in school? But it's difficult for him to understand the concept of magic, so we just don't discuss it. At all.

"Well, I'm off!" James got up noisily and scourgified his plate in the sink. "Off to work, bright and early."

It's Saturday morning, but James is a junior auror, so weekends mean nothing to him.

"Be careful, Jamie. The One World rally is today, and I don't like the look of them."

James smiled and leaned over to give Aunt Ginny a peck on the cheek. "No worries, Mum. I'll be fine. Everyone likes the look of _me_."

And he was off.

Al cleared up the rest of his pancakes with a flourish, swallowing the last bite whole. "Shall we go to Diagon Alley, Mum? We might as well get our books for the year."

Aunt Ginny pursed her lips. "But the rally-"

"- It'll be fine," Al said, giving her his most winning grin. I raised my eyebrows; I'd completely forgotten that the rally was scheduled for this afternoon at Diagon Alley when I came over here, but now that Aunt Ginny's mentioned it, I'd really prefer to avoid doing my shopping with a billion other people standing around listening to some dude declaim. "Please?" Al wheedled, widening his big green eyes from behind his glasses. "We can go to Wheezes and say hi to Uncle George."

Something in my brain clicked. _Ah_. So _that's_ what he's on about. Sweet Circe; Al is such a _boy_.

"Harry?"

Uncle Harry frowned, absently rubbing his scar. "I reckon that it would be fine. If you're willing to put up with the crush of people wandering about, the aurors should have the speakers cordoned off in a space."

Al beamed. "Thanks, Dad. You're the best. Eat up, Lils! We'll go in an hour."

"Should we ask Scorp to meet us there?"

"Sure. Why not? I'll owl the lazy prat. See you back here at ten?"

I nodded, shovelling the last of my breakfast into my mouth and grabbing my letter, badge and wand. "You sure you don't want an extra hour to get your hair right, mate?"

Al's scowl was back. "_Ten_."

You could see Lily's ears prick forward. "Is _that _it?" She snickered, clearing up the remnants of her cereal. "You _sap_."

A dull flush began to creep into Al's cheeks. Laughing, I Disapparated before he could smack me. What a sap.

* * *

"Merlin's _balls_, Al. You drag us all the bloody way here, and you can't even _speak _to her?"

"D'you need a wingman, mate? I think she still might fancy me from second year, though."

"You're an arse, Scorpius."

"Shut _up_!" Al whirled around to where Scorp and I were bickering behind a shelf of Extendable Ears. "She is going to hear you and think I'm a loser who hangs out with the biggest tossers in sodding Great Britain. Shut up. I've got this."

Unimpressed, Scorp and I both folded our arms.

"You're already a loser, Al," Scorp pointed out. "The only way to go is up."

I peered out from behind the shelf. "She's coming this way!" I hissed, and unceremoniously thrust Al out into the aisle. "Oy, Julia!" I called, and ducked back into our hiding place.

"You're a real piece of work, Dursley."

"Shut up. I'll do the same thing for you with Rose."

Scorp clamped his mouth shut and tried to Avada me with his eyes. Didn't work.

"Hey, Al!"

I could feel Al's panic before he took a fortifying breath and replied Julia Jordan. "Hey, Jules."

"I thought I heard Dursley somewhere."

A nervous laugh. "Err, no. She's off snogging Goyle in the alleyway behind Flourish and Blotts."

_Wanker! _

Julia laughed uncertainly, and I didn't need to peek out into the aisle to know that she was fiddling with her hair and slowly backing away. I felt like stabbing myself in the face.

"Well, um. Good for her. Are you doing your shopping?"

"Yes. Are you?" Beside me, Scorp slapped his hand to his face and began shaking his head very slowly.

"Um, no. I'm working." _Which you knew full well, since you insisted on coming today_.

"Right. You look nice."

"Thanks," she replied dryly. "I'm going back to work, now. Tell your friends that I can see the backs of their heads from here. I'll see you on the train to school. 'Ta, Al. Dursley. Malfoy."

A moment later, a red-faced Al poked his head back around the shelf. "You are both _idiots_. 'Cunning' my _arse_."

Scorp lay a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "It's fine, Al. The firewhiskey glass is half full. Maybe this is the year that she'll finally let you slither into her Chamber of Secrets."

"I'll even relinquish my space in the alleyway behind Flourish and Blotts," I added, laying my hand on his other shoulder.

"Merlin, you're both so _crude_." Al grumpily shrugged our hands off his shoulders and started for the door. "Keep up. We might as well finish our shopping. I'll bet that Mum and Lily are already half done."

"Lily will never be done with shopping."

"True."

The crush of people milling about Diagon Alley seemed to have intensified since we stepped into Wheezes fifteen minutes ago, and they were all congregating around a platform set up in a little square in front of Gringotts. "My friends, what a cloistered life we lead!" someone cried. "We are imprisoned in our villages, we are hiding in our homes! Why do we shy from our neighbours? Why do we set ourselves apart from those we call muggles?"

"Looks like the One World rally's started," Scorp observed, noting the grim-faced aurors in their black robes stationed around the square as we drew closer. A tall young wizard in scarlet robes was prancing around on the platform, and I wondered if he was going to fall off in his excitement.

"We are part of this society," the man bellowed. "The International Statute of Secrecy has hindered us for far too long. We live in an era of change and acceptance; it is time for us to mingle honestly amongst muggles. We all – witches, wizards, women, and men – we are one people; we are one world!"

And with a theatrical little bow, he swept his wand through the air. Thousands of flyers burst into being and rained down upon us – curious, I snatched one from the air and scanned through it as the crowd began to disperse. It was basically a rehash of what the wizard in red had been wailing about – claiming that the International Statute was an archaic relic of the ancient witch trials, and that we were better off merging the wizarding and muggle worlds.

I didn't buy it. There was a reason why we had to be kept separate. Personally, I think grandpa Vernon would die if we ever did mix the worlds, and he wouldn't be the only one. There were a whole lot of people who were downright _adamant _that magic was unnatural, and that witchcraft, and anything alluding to witchcraft, was pure evil. Apart from that, it would just be _difficult _for people to adjust to a world with magic. These One World people were setting the stage for absolute anarchy.

Al jostled my shoulder, knocking the flyer out of my hand and breaking into my thoughts. "C'mon, Blair. Let's go. I've got to get a new cauldron. Mine hasn't been the same since we tried to brew the Draught of Living Death at the start of last year."

Scorp slung an arm around Al patronisingly. "You mean _you _tried to brew it. _I _brewed it."

"Prat."

I glanced back towards the square as people began moving around – some picked a flyer up, whilst others trampled them into the cobblestones. This movement would _probably _fizzle out in a couple of months, but still. It left a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Rolling my shoulders, I hurried onwards, catching up with my best friends. Someone else would deal with the One World rubbish. I had a couple of couples to get together, NEWTs to ace, and a house team to lead to glory. Thrusting my hand into the pocket of my jacket, I rubbed my Quidditch captain badge for comfort.

It was going to be a great year. It had to be.

* * *

**A/N: JK Rowling once said that she considered having Dudley Dursley on the platform of Nine and Three-Quarters in the Epilogue to the Deathly Hallows, but struck it off because no magical genes could possibly survive being mixed with Vernon Dursley's. But magic is _magical_, so never say never! Let me know what you think about this!**


	2. Fit Wizards and Hit Wizards

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs. Everything that you recognise belongs to J K Rowling. **

* * *

By the time Al, Scorp and I lugged our tired, sorry selves to the Leaky Cauldron with our shopping, it was just about lunchtime, and I was hungry enough to eat both of the squabbling boys with me as an appetiser before an entire roasted hippogriff.

"Why would you add ketchup to your kippers? You wouldn't have _steak _with ketchup-"

"You are _such _a prole-"

"- I can't _believe_ you didn't tell me when you snogged Katerina Hendricks!"

"Merlin, Albus, that was in _fourth year-_"

"WE'RE GOING TO BE HEADS TOGETHER!"

_What? That's definitely not either of them shrieking – _

A whirl of screaming red whooshed past me and attached itself to Al in a tangle of pale limbs and flaming red hair. Beside him, Scorp dropped his bags and broke into a sweat.

Rose Weasley pulled away enough from Al to shout into his face again. "WE'RE THE HEADS!"

Al's face split into a wide grin. "That's _fantastic_! I was _fucking afraid _that I'd be stuck with Davies!"

Rose stepped away from Al with a sniff that clearly conveyed that _she'd _never doubted who'd fill the role of Head Girl. "Blair," she smiled, reaching over to hug me in greeting. "I heard you're the new Slytherin Quidditch Captain. McLaggen's ours." She couldn't quite catch the nose-wrinkle of disgust that accompanied saying McLaggen's name.

I smirked. "Don't worry, Rosie. I'll wipe the pitch with him, just for you".

She scowled. "Don't call me that." But she took the sting out of it by patting me good-naturedly on the back before we released each other. We'd never been _close _friends, but being _almost family _kind of counts for something. Out of politeness, she inclined her head in Scorpius' direction primly. "Malfoy." Scorp's spine was absolutely _rigid _as he executed a lame half bow in response.

Lovesick fool.

Rolling her eyes, she turned around. "Aunt Ginny, Lily, and Mum are already inside. Get a move on; I've _starving_." She began marching back into the pub. "And, Malfoy, _Katerina Hendricks_? _Trashy_."

And she whipped her head of ridiculously bushy hair around and disappeared into the Leaky Cauldron.

Scorpius looked so crestfallen that I moved over to pat him on the back. "You alright, mate?"

"She _hates _me," he whispered, kicking at a cobblestone in frustration.

I winced. It's true. Rose is completely fine with me, and we're closer to _friends _than _acquaintances _on the sliding scale of a relationship, but she's always been unreasonably cold to Scorpius.

Al shrugged. "Birds are crazy," he supplied eloquently.

"She's your cousin," I reprimanded.

Al shrugged again and started moving towards the pub's entrance. "So are you. Doesn't mean you're not crazy, either."

I resented that. I opened my mouth to tell him so, but he'd already gone through the door. Grunting, I hefted my shopping up and jerked my head towards the pub. "C'mon, Loverboy. Let's go meet the parents."

* * *

Hermione Weasley is one of those people who feel the need to engage the 'odd one out' – be it at work, at a party, or just at lunch – in conversation so as to ensure that the other person is no longer left out. Scorp and I are, through no fault of anybody's, generally a little left out during any Potter/Weasley gathering that we've ended up at, so we tend to spend a great deal of time talking to her. And since she has no idea of what to talk to us about apart from Hogwarts, we only _ever _talk about school.

"So, Blair, Scorpius; what NEWTs will you both be taking, this year?"

Scorp dropped his fork at being addressed by his crush's war-hero, ultra-power-woman mother, and dove under the table to retrieve it and possibly put an end to himself with it right there and then.

I clamped down on the impulse to snigger (which would be _extremely _unkind) and smiled at Hermione in an attempt to distract her from the blonde bimbo rummaging about our feet. "I'm doing Potions, DADA, Transfiguration, Charms, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "And I suppose that Muggle Studies will be your easy O?"

I beamed at her winningly. "All of them are easy Os."

Hermione was saved from my cockiness and Scorp was saved from having to eventually answer her question by Aunt Ginny, who leapt to her feet with an exclamation of shock as the tinkle of the bell above the pub door heralded the arrival of new patrons.

"Luna!"

Eh?

Hermione was out of her chair like a shot, weaving through patrons to get to the rather wispy looking woman standing in the doorway. I raised my eyebrows and poked Al, who was so deep into his shepherd's pie that he was about to start a relationship with it. "Who's _that_?"

Scorp emerged, breathless, at my elbow. "What?"

Al looked up and narrowed his eyes at the puff of blonde hair that was the only part visible of the woman who was now being hugged to death by Hermione. As we looked on, Aunt Ginny charged at the two women and engulfed them both in a bear hug. "I reckon that's Aunt Luna. I haven't seen her since I was like, eight. She and her husband – Rolf Scamander, the grandson of the bloke who wrote our Care of Magical Creatures textbook – upped and left for Southeast Asia to hunt ring-tailed singaroos or something like that."

"Huh."

Then, two boys ducked into the pub, looking slightly amused at the emotional knot of women blocking the doorway.

And they were _hot_.

"Who are _they_?" I asked interestedly. Rose, catching on to my tone, whirled around in her chair to stare as well, and she couldn't quite help the sound of appreciation that bubbled up in her throat. I concurred. Scorp, who had yet to lever himself back up into his chair, scowled mightily and heaved himself up with a clatter that no one took notice of.

Al's brow wrinkled. "I _think_ that they're her twin sons – their names are alliterative and I forgot both the starting letter and the rest of the names – and they _should _be in our year. I remember them being a little less…"

"Fit?" Rose supplied, eyeing the shift in muscle as one of the boys crossed his arms.

"Yeah". Al frowned. "And put-together. Aunt Luna always had them in some ridiculous contraption to ward off nargles."

Finally, the three women broke apart, and the entire group traipsed back to our table. "Kids," Aunt Ginny announced, "This is Aunt Luna, and these are her twin sons, Lorcan and Lysander."

There was a polite murmur of greeting around the table as all of the school-going teenagers sized each other up. Scorp looked like he was in _agony_ as he tried to assess his competition for Rose's affection. To be perfectly honest, Scorp's cute in a blonde, boyish kind of way, but if one's looking for _pure, unadulterated hotness_, he's completely out of the running. The twins were identical, but there were obvious differences between them – differently placed freckles, a slight difference in hair colour, and, most obviously, one of them had a nose that had clearly been broken before.

One of them – Lorcan, I reckon, with the crooked nose – caught Rose and I unabashedly checking him out and grinned.

_Merlin. Dimples. _

Hermione, bless her, was entirely unaware of the heady mix of hormones under her nose as she introduced us to the Fit Wizards and Luna. "That's Lily and Albus… Harry's kids… my own Rosie Posie," – Rose's cheeks went up in _flames_ – "… and Scorpius Malfoy, and Blair Dursley."

Luna smiled at us all dreamily. "It's lovely to meet you all. Lorcan and Lysander will be starting at Hogwarts for their last year, and it would be wonderful for them to know at least _some _people."

_Oh, I'll get to know them. I'll get to know them __very__ well._

"Why don't you join us for lunch?" Aunt Ginny asked, already looking about for extra seats. Lily yanked her bag off the spare chair beside her, looking thrilled. Al fidgeted a little nervously with his spoon, as if unsure of what to do with himself.

_Yes! Join us! Preferably at the hip! _

Luna laughed and shook her head. "We've already eaten, and we've got to find Rolf. I only dropped in to see if we'd run into anyone I knew. We've got to get our place all set up before the boys go off to school, and I'm afraid I've left Rolf wandering about the Magical Menagerie."

My aunt and Hermione both looked exceedingly disappointed. I winked at the twin who'd grinned at me, and his smile only widened. His brother was disinterestedly staring in the direction of the bar, steadfastly ignoring the awkwardness. Well, _excuse _you.

"Well, I'll owl you about meeting up for dinner, sometime soon. Harry and Ron will be _dying _to meet up." Hermione leaned over to give Luna another quick hug as the twins made casual _hey bye_ gestures and ambled off towards the door.

With a rather lost looking smile at the rest of us, Luna waved vaguely at Aunt Ginny and skipped off in the wake of her sons.

I sat back in my chair, feeling extremely pleased with life. Hermione abandoned conversation with Scorp and I in favour of diving into full dinner-party planning mode with my aunt, leaving the rest of us to stare around at each other.

"I can't _wait _for school to start," Lily beamed, digging into her steak-and-kidney pie with renewed enthusiasm. Rose nodded dreamily, tucking an errant curl behind her ear in an absentminded way that had Scorp tensing beside me.

Al noticed the awkward lull and began talking about Quidditch extremely quickly. I briefly wondered why Lysander Scamander had been so interested in the bar when it didn't seem like he played for the other team and there were three perfectly good-looking girls of his own age clearly checking him out, but then my cousin demanded some input on feinting strategies, so I emptied my head of all but Quidditch and thought no more of it.

* * *

The first of September is always a little bit on the manic side.

"Dudders, tell your daughter to _hurry up_!"

"Mum, are my lucky knickers out of the wash, yet?"

"The car's started; c'mon, let's _go!_"

"MEOW!"

I almost killed myself (and Princess, the family cat) hurtling down the stairs while zipping up my backpack and trying to wrestle myself into a Harpies Quidditch hoodie – a situation which my father was entirely unsympathetic about as he pretty much snatched me from certain face-plant and threw me at the front door. "Let's MOVE!"

My trunk, which had been packed and waiting by the front door since five minutes ago when I levitated it there while trying to pull on my socks from the second floor landing, was rapidly heaved into the car boot to the tune of my father freaking the fuck out, and then I was leaping into the backseat.

My mother didn't even wait for my father to completely close his door before she stepped on the gas and _floored _it to King's Cross.

Not that flooring it meant _anything_ in London traffic.

I sighed as Mum nervously inched her way between a bus and a minivan that was a _little _too close for comfort. "I really _could _have just taken a portkey to the station, y'know. I know that this stresses you out."

I wasn't actually talking about the traffic.

Daddy's reply was terse. "We have sent you off every year that you've gone. It's your last one; we can do it one more time."

With another heaving sigh, I settled back into the seat. _My last year_. I didn't even want to _think_ about leaving; my life had revolved around Hogwarts and Quidditch for the past six years, and I honestly did _not_ know what I was going to do with myself after it. I mean, I could always play Quidditch, but it's not like a lot of people make it in the leagues. My grandparents Dursley were expecting me to go to university, but it wasn't like I had A'levels to get me into any of them. So.

I'd figure it out soon enough.

We were parked and tearing towards the platform with about fifteen minutes to spare – Daddy's shudder at passing through the barrier was even less pronounced than last year's, which was _progress_ – and then we were in the magical world.

The Hogwarts express sat like a queen amongst her subjects, wreathed in billowing steam and basking in the morning sun. The platform was _incredibly _crowded, but as we picked our way through the throng in the search of a little patch of empty space to conduct all our good-bye business, individual huddles became more easily discernable in the mass. The Malfoys were easily distinguishable from the crowd – both Scorp and his father had hair brighter than the fucking _sun _– and they were the very _picture_ of pureblood aristocracy. I steered my parents in the opposite direction. Something about Mr Malfoy made them a little nervous. I didn't blame them. Draco Malfoy had a way of making you feel all of two feel tall with just a _look_. It's a miracle that Scorp wasn't more socially impaired than he already was. We also passed the Potter-Weasley clan, but decided not to join them, given the crush of paparazzi that seemed intent on blinding everyone in the vicinity every time my uncle so much as twitched his eyebrow. Aunt Ginny looked like she was about to kill something with her bare hands; Lily was stoically engaged in conversation with one of her friends brave enough to sidle up to the maelstrom of press and completely ignoring the photographer who practically had himself wedged under her elbow. Al wasn't anywhere to be seen, but he was probably being dragged around by Rose (also missing from the tiny sea of gingers), getting a head start on Head business. I kept a look out for the Scamander twins, but, as expected, didn't find them. The platform was a _mess_.

We ended up being squeezed between a pillar and an extremely emotional family sending their first child off to Hogwarts. Daddy cleared his throat, looking a little lost. "It's your last year," he began unnecessarily. "Be good and study hard. Also…" – and here, he shared a brief look with my mother – "You should make a decision as to what you will be doing next year. We'll talk more about it during Christmas, but I need you to be thinking about it in the meantime."

I winced inwardly, but nodded and reached out to my father for a hug. My mother slid an arm around my waist and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. "We love you, darling. Write us when you get settled."

"HEY Dursleys; hey!"

Our group hug was rather rudely interrupted by a fourth dark head thrust under my armpit – with an exclamation of disgust, I discovered a very frantic looking Al Potter trying to squeeze himself between myself and my father.

"Sweet Merlin, Al-"

"Hide me!" he hissed, ducking behind Daddy's bulk. "She grabbed me early and we loaded all our trunks into the prefect's compartment, but I made a run for it when she wanted me to find every first year on the bloody platform and fucking hold their hands as they board the goddamn train."

Al's pretty much ambivalent about children – he prefers it if he can give the child back to wherever it came from, but he won't go out of his way to play kindergarten teacher – which is something that Rose is more than keen on doing.

"Err. Hello, Albus…?" Daddy raised an eyebrow as Al burrowed deeper into our communal Dursley hug. Al turned around to fix him with an anguished look.

"You don't understand," he moaned.

My mother's lips twitched. She _loves _Al's theatrics; I have no idea why.

And Al was still going.

"… The bloody platform's a _nightmare_, especially with all the hit wizards wandering about and getting into everybody's way…"

I took a step back, surprised. "Hit wizards?"

Al threw me a look of complete exasperation. "Yes. Plainclothes hit wizards, sent here by my father and the paranoid freaks at the Auror office."

Mum began to look a little suspicious. "What are hit wizards?"

"Don't worry, Auntie Di." Al flapped a hand at a man who was clearly trying to look inconspicuous as he lounged randomly against a pillar, and another who was casually prodding his way through the crowd with the tip of his wand. "They're just excessively heavy-handed. And there's been an _explosion _of trainees at the Auror office within the last twenty-five years. It's apparently _the _coolest job, _ever_. No one knows what to do with them, so they get grunt work. Like this."

I furrowed my brow. "They're _really _that panicked about the One World thing?"

Al shrugged, cast a wary look about, and finally stepped out from behind my father's belly. "Dad says it's better to be safe than sorry. I reckon about ninety per cent of it is war reflex."

Daddy paled a little at the mention of _war_. Apparently a dementor had tried to kiss him when he was with Harry one summer right before it broke out. It did not do wonders for his acceptance of the wizarding world. And, now that I actually _looked_, I did see people who looked a little out of place, just by the virtue of the fact that they weren't attached to any families. And there were quite a few of them.

Oh, well.

The train gave a warning _hoot_, prompting Al and I to leap to attention. "We'd best hop to it," Al mumbled, giving my mother a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. "Bye, Dursleys!"

With a wave at my bewildered muggle parents and a hasty declaration of love, I snatched up my trunk and joined the sudden flood of students scrambling to get onto the train, struggling to keep up with the luggage-less-and-therefore-more-mobile Al. There was a great deal of jostling about, so it came as no surprise that my trunk ran over something that proceeded to swear extremely loudly. Wincing, I turned around to find a wizard hopping about on a foot, cursing darkly. Sighing, I pointed my wand at his foot and muttered a pain-relieving charm for bruises that _all _Quidditch players eventually learned.

The man looked up, a little stunned at how rapidly the pain was fading – I knew from experience that the feeling was complete bliss, especially when it was followed by a very hot shower and a mani-pedi night.

"Thanks." He smiled briefly, and disappeared before I could reply – or apologise for bumping into him in the first place. Huh. He seemed vaguely familiar, but I was pretty sure that I didn't actually know him – he was Chinese, dark-haired and extremely tanned, with teeth that gleamed white in a crooked smile.

Al discovered me standing there and frowning about two seconds later, following which he proceeded to flip out and demand to know if I was interested in attending Hogwarts at all this year. He then took my luggage from me and got both me and the trunk onto the train faster than I could say _Quidditch_, telling me to find a goddamn cabin free of idiots that he could handle being in after a three-hour prefect meeting.

And then he flounced away.

I rolled my shoulders and sidestepped a gaggle of Hufflepuff sixth-years to barge into an empty compartment that they'd clearly had their eyes on – _hey, you snooze, you lose_ – and settled into it, knowing that Scorp would appear sooner or later. His mother always insisted on holding on to him until the train would actually start moving, and then his father would have to literally pry him from Astoria Malfoy's perfectly toned arms and toss him into the train. What a sweetheart.

I flopped down onto the seat just as the train began to move and rested my head against the window, trying to catch a last glimpse of my parents. They weren't anywhere in sight, but the same man I'd bumped into was standing close to the edge of the platform, staring at the train inscrutably. He wasn't _with _anybody – could he be a hit wizard that I'd seen over the holidays when James had friends over at the Potters when I was visiting with Al?

_No_, I thought, watching him melt into the crowd as we pulled away from the station. He just didn't _feel _like he could be an auror.

So who the fuck was he, and why the fuck did I feel like I should care?

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to update! School's been absolutely _mad_. Please, PLEASE review! **


	3. Warting and Sorting

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs. Everything that you recognise belongs to J K Rowling. **

* * *

Scorp barged in about two minutes after we pulled away from the station, panting heavily as he hauled his oversize trunk into the compartment and kicked the door shut. "I actually had to _run _for the train," he moaned, struggling to stow his trunk. "I _hate _running, and now I'm all sweaty."

I snorted and turned away from the window, watching him as he hoisted his trunk onto the baggage rails and elbowed it into place. Scorp is genetically blessed: he eats absolute _rubbish _and _hates _exercise and he's _still_ boyish and lanky. I know that if I ever stopped running a mile a day, I'd end up looking like Grandpa Vernon.

Don't get me wrong; I love my Grandpa Vernon. But, I dislike the idea of being the size of a baby whale. Getting off the ground for Quidditch would become _that _much harder, and it just isn't healthy. All the magic in the world couldn't save me from that much pressure on my internal organs – which is basically what Grandpa's cardiologist bellowed at him the last time he went for a medical appointment for his cholesterol.

The door to the compartment slid open just as Scorp tumbled into the seat across from me. My wand was in my palm the moment the interlopers began talking.

"Clear out, Thunderthighs!" McLaggen shoved his way into our compartment, tailed by his posse. Even without craning my head, I spotted Carruthers, Crawford, and Benedict hulking about behind him like lingering flatulence.

I sat back and raised my eyebrows at him. "Fuck off, McFuckface. Scorp and I were here first."

McLaggen sneered and plonked his trunk onto the seat beside Scorp; Scorp curled his lip in distaste and discreetly got his own wand out and at the ready. "There are four of us, there are two of you, and the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

I scoffed. "In that case, I'd be doing the entire world a favour by hexing you all into next Sunday. Bugger off."

McLaggen had just opened his mouth to deliver what he probably thought was a cutting put-down when he was interrupted by a commotion behind him.

There was a split second of confused scuffling, during which Scorpius knocked McLaggen's trunk to the floor with a flick of his wand and I discreetly turned all of its contents chartreuse. McLaggen's expression contorted into one of fury –

\- and then, he was sprawled out at my feet, groaning.

Lindsey Ouyang, who stood a full head and a half shorter than McLaggen (and Scorp, and I), shoved her trunk into the luggage space beside Scorp's and kicked at McLaggen's prone form. "I didn't even hex you that hard, you fucker. Get up and get out. I want to sit the fuck down and fix the chip in my nail that happened when I was dealing with your droogs on the floor outside."

McLaggen staggered to his feet, glowering at the tiny girl in front of him – an effect that was somewhat lost in the sea of multi-coloured warts that were starting to form on his face. Lindsey glowered right back and looked twice as threatening.

And, amazingly, without another word, McLaggen grabbed his trunk, shoved past Lindsey, and slammed the compartment door shut behind him.

Lindsey visibly relaxed as she plopped down beside me, sinking down into the red cushions. "I knew that the most expedient way of finding Slytherins was to find a herd of loutish Gryffindicks," she explained complacently in reply to Scorp's quizzical look. "And yes, I'm going to be here for the entire ride to Scotland. Corinth is at the prefect's meeting, and everyone else on this train is an imbecile. Hello, Scopius. Blair. How were your holidays?"

A brief shadow played across Scorp's face. I felt a pang of sympathy; he'd spent a great deal of time with his grandparents Malfoy this summer, and from what I'd gathered, he'd hated every minute of it. "Not much," he said, turning on his Wizscreen and loading a muggle movie with a tap of his wand. Muggles came up with all sorts of tech shit all the time, and the wizarding world (specifically, Malfoy Industries, which outwardly disdained all things muggle until it could make a profit for them when combined with magic) had found a way to move past the Middle Ages.

Well, in most things. We kept owl post. They're pretty cute, and they'd be _devastated _if we automated them out of their jobs.

I settled back into my seat and began rummaging in my bag for my Quidditch Digest. "Pretty good. Got a lot of flying done. You?"

"The usual. Bummed around, let my mother nag me about needing to pull myself together for the NEWTs, visited my relatives on her side in Malaysia, and went on a wizarding cruise with them. Lots of extended family bonding and shit." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and began examining her chipped nail. "I can't wait to get back to some peace and quiet. Thank Merlin's first fuck that you and Corinth don't feel a need to squawk about how skinny I am every thirty seconds, and thank Circe's left boob that there are only three of us in a dorm."

Lindsey was one of the two other Slytherin girls in my year. In fact, Slytherin house was now the smallest house in terms of student population in the school – Al hypothesises that it's because most of Slytherin house wasn't feeling particularly celebratory after the end of the war, which meant that there wasn't much joyful sex going on.

"What dirt do you have on McLaggen that got him backing down so damned quickly?" Scorp asked, digging a pair of headphones out of his backpack.

Lindsey smirked and pulled her own Wizscreen out of her tiny black purse. "I wouldn't have _any_ dirt if I told everybody, would I? Anyways, trust me. It's pretty good."

I let it go. It'd come out eventually; Hogwarts was as porous as a sieve.

"So, Scorp, I discovered Weasley anxiously applying lip-gloss in the bathroom. Who's she dolling up for if it isn't you?" Lindsey waggled her eyebrows suggestively, earning a scowl from him.

His reply was brusque. "I don't want to talk about it." And he put on his brand new Malfoy Industries headphones and blocked us out.

Lindsey chuckled and turned her attention to her Wizscreen, pulling up a copy of _Witch Weekly_. "I don't know why he's still keen on her," she murmured conversationally, browsing through the magazine. "Weasley has _terrible _taste, which obviously means that she'll never go for him."

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. Lindsey made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. "If you ignore the fact that his grandfather is a complete lunatic and the fact that every third Muggle horror movie is based off his ancestral home, he's actually _quite _a catch – I mean, apart from all the emotional pining. And he's _such _a sensitive guy that he's got to be incredibly cuddly in the sack – if you're into that sort of transcendent, lovemaking shit."

The thought of Scorp in a sexual way made me feel a little queasy.

Lindsey saw my expression and huffed, turning back to her Wizscreen. "Ugh. Let me know when you hit puberty."

I rolled my eyes and snapped my Quidditch Digest open, staring at a two-page spread of the Banchory Bangers ("_Bang, Bangable, Banged – The Bangers on Bringing Bludgers to Blowouts_") and ruminating on my best friend's unfortunate obsession with Rose Weasley.

I reckon that it started somewhere in third year – even before the Katerina Hendricks Disaster – during the summer that Al, Scorp and I stayed over at the Burrow for a couple of weeks while Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny went to Paris on a Ministry-Ambassadorial-Work trip (Uncle Harry) cum shopping spree (Aunt Ginny). I'd gotten permission from my parents to stay over, and by some miracle, Scorp's parents were finally less suspicious of our friendship and were chill enough to allow Scorp (a Malfoy) to set foot in a Weasley household. James was staying with Fred Weasley's family (the two are _inseparable_) and Lily was with Rose's family – so all the Weasleys would congregate at the Burrow _every day _and we'd just hang out and do ridiculous and potentially dangerous things, like play Quodpot with Grandma Weasley's Dutch ovens and a double handful of untested Wheezes fireworks.

To this day, James swears that the explosion that knocked him off his broom and resulted in five broken bones and nine fractures was less painful than the spanking he got from Grandma Weasley after he recovered.

Anyway, Scorp finally got to see Rose in actual social situations – laughing with her cousins, having fun, and above all, _not being a frigid bitch_. The night that she slipped up and actually passed him a slice of cake with a _smile _was the beginning of Scorpius Malfoy's downward spiral into Rose Weasley's cool, uncaring clutches.

And then there came a string of meaningless snogs and hook-ups as a pretty much desperate Scorp tried to get over the fact that she _loathed _him – and when news of how he wouldn't keep a girlfriend for more than a week started getting round, she disliked him even more for being a "heartless rake".

_Heartless. Rake. _Who the _fuck _still _talks _like that, other than Rose Weasley?

But, there you have it. The ultimate modern Romeo and Juliet, except that Rose wasn't so much as interested in pining over Scorp than she was in pinning him to the floor of the Forbidden Forest as a friendly gesture of goodwill to the resident acromantula.

I didn't understand her; if she only took the time to _know _Scorp – and believe you me, she had _plenty _of time to do that within the last six years in which we'd all pretty much hung around in overlapping social circles – she'd know that he's funny, disarmingly disarming, and genuinely _nice_. I'd heard Al mumbling about _stupid war prejudices_, but that was _literally _over twenty five years ago, and it's not like Scorp had actually tried to Avada her or deliberately make her life miserable.

Quite the opposite.

A flare of righteous indignation flashed in my chest as I eyed Scorp, who was completely engrossed in a muggle movie (I'd bet my broom that he was watching _Spirited Away_) and being the brother I've had since we teamed up to land McLaggen and Angus McFusty in the Hospital Wing two weeks into our first year for giving Al a concussion. (They'd been taunting Scorp about being a Death Eater and Al had leapt in front of him as McLaggen tried to smack him in the face with his broomstick. Apparently I'd gone into complete psychosis, and it was Scorp who later explained that I was under a full body-bind because I'd tried to ram my own broomstick down McLaggen's throat.)

Bottom-line: Scorp Malfoy deserved better than Bitchy Rosalind Weasley.

* * *

With a muttered oath, Corinth Fawley sank onto the bench at the Slytherin table as the rest of the school ambled into the Great Hall.

We're all fully aware that Corinth is a boy's name, but her pureblooded family was so convinced that she'd be a boy that when they discovered that she was, in fact, female, they decided to just carry on as if she'd been one anyways. This irritated Corinth to no end, which was why she responded by being the biggest flirt Hogwarts had seen in a decade. This dubious honour was to be distinguished from the biggest slag title – which went to Katerina Hendricks, hands and pants down.

Anyways, she and Al hadn't managed to make it back to the compartment during the seven-hour commute to Hogsmeade; her feelings about this were made clear by the ferocious glare that she levelled at a benign Rose and a stiff Albus who were bringing up the rear of a line of first-years (… and, I realised with a quick jolt, the Scamander brothers, who were casually ambling along, ignoring all the stares) queuing up before the Sorting Hat.

"The only thing longer than her long-windedness is the fucking Weasley nose," she hissed, flipping her cloud of glorious golden mane over her shoulder. Lindsey, caught in the wave, spluttered as some of it ended up in her mouth. "We basically got our entire _academic year _micromanaged, and she was still drawing up plans for _commencement _when we pulled into Hogsmeade. For fuck's sake; it's next year, and the seventh-years aren't even _on duty_. Why couldn't they have chosen _Davies _for the job, instead?"

"Because Davies gives head better than being it," Scorp offered brightly.

That's a joke because it's public knowledge that Davies, for all her academic brilliance, is _quite _socially awkward and has as much sex drive as a Yorkshire pudding.

Corinth gagged and was about to retort when Longbottom called the school to attention. The Sorting had commenced, with the two Scamander boys going first. Everybody was silent as they watched Lorcan plunk himself down on the rickety stool and silently confer with the Hat. We all waited with baited breath –

"_SLYTHERIN!" _

Our table exploded as the rest of the female population threw us sour looks. Lorcan Scamander shared a quick look with his brother before sauntering to the Slytherin table amidst jeers from the rest of the Hall. Beside me, Scorp looked marginally cheered at the fact that Lorcan was sorted into Slytherin, because then Rose would _definitely _not go out with him. He greeted Lorcan with a tentative smile as Lindsey glanced up at him and shuffled a little to let him in beside her.

"Lindsey."

"Scamander One."

"RAVENCLAW!"

My surprise at Lindsey and Lorcan knowing each other was somewhat drowned out by the roar from Ravenclaw as Lysander Scamander coolly lifted the Sorting Hat off his own head and moved towards their table.

"No surprise there," Lindsey muttered, narrowing her eyes at the way the Ravenclaw girls with pulses shoved each other out of the way. "They're fighting a losing battle; Scamander Two is just as asexual as Blair."

I kicked her, hard.

Scorp snorted as he craned his head around to get a look at Rose Weasley. She was engaged in a whispered conversation with Al, who looked like he'd really rather be anywhere else in the world – and I felt Scorp tense and look away as Rose shot Lysander a look.

… Too much sexual tension here.

Meanwhile, Corinth had leaned over to scrutinise both Lindsey and Lorcan. "You guys know each other?"

Lindsey shrugged. "A little. I met the Scamanders over the summer when I was visiting my relatives."

Lorcan smiled boyishly, and I wanted to kiss him on the nose. "We're friends with one of her cousins – we went to school together in Malaysia, at the Pulau."

Oh.

"Adam didn't mention that you were coming over, though." Lindsey glared at her empty plate and turned to transfer that same glare to the entire Sorting process. "Come to think of it, neither did you."

"Mum and Dad finished up their research, and decided to come back for our last year. We haven't been back here since we left when we were kids, so. It's like an adventure."

"Weren't you sad about leaving your old school behind?" Corinth ran her hand through her hair again and fixed Lorcan with a look that clearly conveyed that she was inquiring as to the presence of any competition.

Clearly amused, Lorcan grinned. "A little. I was more excited about coming here."

Uncomfortable with Corinth's predatory pheromones, Scorp interjected. "What was your old school like?"

"Y'know, same old, same old. It's the only wizarding school in the region, so we get a lot of people from different countries in Southeast Asia. It was pretty neat, actually, but after a while, a little change is great." Lorcan flashed him a grin. "What do you guys do for fun, around here?"

"Quidditch!"

I might have said that a little too loudly – case in point, Al and Rose swivelled around towards the source of the shout from two tables away – but everyone took it in stride. I tended to get very enthusiastic about Quidditch.

Al, who was just about shoving the line of unsorted First Years forward, threw me the dirtiest look I'd ever seen.

"Eh… I'm not much of a Quidditch player. Lysander's the one with a Beater's arm, but he prefers his books to his broom."

"Interesting. Beating. A Beater's arm." Corinth was starting to sound vaguely aroused.

Catching on, Lindsey leapt into the conversation. "Blair's Quidditch Captain! She plays Beater, too. I play Seeker, and Al – Al Potter with the bitchy face over there – he's one of our Chasers."

Lorcan's tickled expression seemed to be a permanent fixture. "I'd thought that the son of Harry Potter would play Seeker."

Lindsey smirked and made a show of examining her nails. "He's not the only guy around here with a Seeker for a parent."

Before Lorcan could inquire further, Professor Longbottom announced that the Sorting was over, packing the Hat and stool up and yielding the floor to Professor Sinistra, our Headmistress, who began announcing things like _The Forbidden Forest is Forbidden _and _Fanged Frisbees are Forbidden _and _A List of Forbidden Items is Nailed to Mr Filch's Door. They are Forbidden. _

Al moved so fast that I swore that he Apparated into the seat beside Scorp. "I love her," he breathed heavily, rumpling his already rumpled hair in agitation, "but only one of us will survive the year, and it's going to be me."

Lorcan smiled genially. "Don't angst, mate." He jerked a thumb towards the Ravenclaw table, where his brother seemed to be studiously ignoring his presence. "Your family's the one thing you can't get rid of, so you might as well get used to getting around them. You get pretty good at it, after a while."

Lysander seemed to hear this, because he looked up and narrowed his eyes at his twin.

Interesting.

I wasn't the only one who wanted to ask about that, but then the feast appeared, and all else was forgotten.

Except, for the rest of the night, Lysander Scamander did not look at his brother again.

* * *

**A/N: HOGWARTS, HOGWARTS, HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS!**

**Ouyang is a dual-character Chinese name. It's one of the most common out of the few dual-character names that still exist today, but it's still pretty rare. **

**Pulau - it just means _island _in Bahasa Melayu. **


	4. Quibbitch

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs.**

* * *

"Oi! Are you – _Christ_ in a _cauldron_; WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

Scorpius Malfoy literally kicked the confused, half naked girl out of his four-poster in the process of leaping out of bed himself.

Looking slightly abashed, he peered over to the other side as his former bedmate let out a wail that was abruptly truncated upon seeing me. I pursed my lips and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to get the hint and get out. When the awkward moment only stretched on, Scorp made a strangled noise in his throat and made a shooing motion with his hands. Finally realising that she wasn't wanted, Michelle Bouchard huffed, grabbed her shirt and threw us both an unbelievably dirty look before stomping out of the Slytherin 7th years' boys' dormitory.

Scorp heaved a sigh of relief and stretched, ambling over to his closet. "Thanks for the wake-up call, Blair Hug. Really appreciate it."

About to sit on his bed, I paused, wary, and moved to Al's unoccupied one, instead. Lorcan Scamander's bed – at least, I assumed that the extra four poster bed tucked into a corner of the room was Lorcan's – was also made and empty. Shafiq's and Goyle's hangings were still closed – clever boys had probably placed silencing and soundproof charms around their beds.

And, apparently, so had Scorpius, which was why he hadn't heard me hollering for him to get his lazy arse up until I'd wrenched his hangings open and found him entwined with _Michelle Bouchard_. I mean, I'd known that he'd only asked me to wake him up early to "get (his) Herbology essay done" so that I do the kicking-out-of-bed routine _for _him, but doing Michelle Bouchard really was a terrible life decision.

"I can't _believe _that you shagged a Destiny's Child. You _know _that she's going to tell Beyoncé about it, and Bey is basically going to run her mouth and tell the entire damned school by dinner tonight."

Scorp shrugged carelessly as Al shuffled into the dormitory, freshly showered and already in his Quidditch kit. "I didn't _shag_ her. We did some other stuff. But she's far less inventive than Kelly."

Al looked vaguely impressed at this. "Is _that _why Michelle was swanning down our corridor like a ship in full sail? Her shirt wasn't _completely _opaque, y'know – it was kind of glorious…"

_What! _

Irritated, I stood and _aguamenti_-ed both boys. "I'm going down for breakfast," I informed my cousin as they both spluttered and Scorp, bizarrely, tried to wring out his hair. "Please inform Syphilis Malfoy that he is a _prick _and that if he isn't careful, his own is going to either shrivel away with disease or get hexed off, which I believe that he _deserves_."

And then _I _swanned it out of the room, thoroughly annoyed at blokes in general.

I just didn't _understand_. Scorp was, in all actuality, _obsessed _with Rose Weasley, so what would possess him to shag everyone else in a skirt in the castle _but _her?

Teenage boys are _prats_.

Stomping back to my own dormitory, I snagged my broom, shouted at Lindsey to wake up, and recommenced stomping – this time, to breakfast.

It was a Saturday, which explained why there was barely anyone in the Great Hall at eight in the morning apart from some Slytherin Quidditch hopefuls trying to down some toast before our tryouts. They all fell silent as I collapsed onto a bench and began loading my plate with eggs and toast, but when I didn't turn around to say something encouraging or optimistic (… I'm a Slytherin, not a Hufflepuff), they slipped back into their own conversations.

I wasn't, however, too engrossed in my food to notice the arrival of Lorcan Scamander to breakfast. He slid a little clunkily into the seat opposite me, flashed me a smile, and scraped about half a platter of white pudding onto his plate, followed by a forkful of bacon rashers and a heaping spoonful of baked beans.

This may sound eerily creepy, but I've noticed that he's had the same breakfast just about _every single day _for the past week that we've been back at Hogwarts – he'd told us that a good Irish breakfast with white pudding was _impossible _to get at the Pulau, and it wasn't like his mother's cooking was particularly safe to eat, anyways.

I decided to bite the bullet and start the conversation ball rolling, seeing as that all he seemed to be interested in doing was masticating his breakfast, and I felt awkward just sitting there. "So how's school been? I feel like I never get the chance to talk to you."

Lorcan looked up and flashed me a smile that involved rather more teeth than I thought necessary. "We've only got two classes together, and they're both pretty intense."

It's true. It's not like there's much room for talking during DADA, which is taught by Arnold Wollestonecraft, who prefers to spend half the class bellowing and the other half supervising duelling, during which we're not allowed to speak because "trash talking is a lapse of discipline and is distracting to everybody". The new potions mistress, Mariah Wilson, prefers _complete silence_ because _potion brewing is a sacred art_. We all think that she's a nutcase, but most people let it slide because she's brilliant. One of the nastier third years once lit a handful of WWW fireworks in class, and she damn near had a nervous breakdown. But, all that aside -

"-That's not an answer to my question," I pointed out, smooshing a path through my ketchup with a sausage.

Lorcan shrugged and shoved a strip of bacon into his mouth. "School's school. I've never been much interested in it."

I was about to inquire more into this (just to keep the conversation going – I mean, there's not much you can say to _that_, right?) when we were interrupted by the post.

I got a little parcel – hopefully containing my lucky knickers – whilst Lorcan got a couple of letters and a large manila envelope – which he ripped open first, eyes bright and breakfast completely forgotten.

I raised my eyebrows. _What_?

It was a slim magazine, with a picture of an agitated crowd on the cover. I tilted my head a little to read the name of the publication as Lorcan snapped it open and began reading.

_One World, One Truth_.

Oh.

Lorcan caught me staring and looked up, expression apologetic. "Sorry; I'm just really excited. I'm _starved _for real news."

He wasn't nearly as anxious to read the _Prophet _every morning, so I guessed that this… One World newsletter ranked higher on his priority list. "I take it that you're all for magical-Muggle integration?"

The light in Lorcan's eyes was almost fanatical. "It's the only way to move forward. Look at us, trapped in the Middle Ages for _centuries_ – everything modern we have is Muggle in origin. Think of how much we could both help each other if we could openly live together!"

I took a nibble of my sausage, wary. "I suppose. But we could also continue to progress in secret by just nicking any new Muggle tech that comes out. There's no need to give half of Muggle Britain a coronary." _There's no need to give Grandpa Vernon a coronary. _

Lorcan registered my less-than-enthusiastic response and broke into an easy grin, the uncomfortable gleam fading from his eyes as he laid his newsletter, face down, by his plate. "Perhaps. But sometimes, all that progress needs is a little push." Then he re-devoted himself to his breakfast.

Curious, I glanced over at the wizard waving gaily on the back cover of his newsletter, and almost choked.

He was the man I'd bumped into at the platform.

What could a One World leader possibly have been doing at Platform Nine and Three Quarters on a Hogwarts day?

* * *

The One World bullshit was the furthest thing from my mind precisely fifty-three minutes later as I stood on the Quidditch pitch, hair charmed to stay out of my face, glaring at the House-Team Hopefuls. Half of them had been at breakfast with me, and out of that half, another half had been _late_.

I hate lateness. But if I automatically disqualified the latecomers from the tryouts, I'd be down a quarter of my pool of hopefuls.

_Compromise it is. _

"Laps!" I shouted, tossing a stopwatch at Al, who'd been staring dreamily at a knot of red huddled in the stands. Caught unawares, he almost fumbled the catch – another reason why he's _not _my Seeker. "Five rounds around the pitch for you lot, and eight for _you_ lot, for being late. I adore punctuality only slightly less than I do winning. Keep that in mind. Potter here will take your times down as you pass him, and they will be considered in my assessment. Go!"

Some of them looked as if they were on the verge of grumbling, but they knuckled down and began running anyways. I was looking for two Chasers and a Beater, today. My partner, Ethan Bole, had graduated the year before, and the two Chasers who worked with Al were, quite frankly, inexplicably stupid.

So was Bole, actually, but at least he could hit at things upon being pointed in the right direction.

But I was done with having large but pretty much useless idiots on the team. We needed to be sleek, fast, and _intelligent_. I'm not quite sure how _ambitious _and _cunning _translated into _troll-sized_ and _fucking dumb as a dungbomb_, but I was _over_ that phase of Slytherin's Quidditch line-up.

We were going to win.

Lindsey stepped up beside me as Al distractedly took time, his quill automatically recording each lap on a timesheet. "Looks like all the other teams came to watch the bloodbath," she noted, narrowing her eyes at the stands. "We should ban Al from playing Gryffindor. He's hopeless against Jordan."

"We really should… but then again, looking at how things are going, those matches will be the only opportunities he'll ever have to score against her."

"Fuck you, Dursley!"

Lindsey sniggered as Al made a rude gesture in my direction before turning her attention to the hopefuls. "D'you reckon any of them will be any good?"

I pursed my lips, sizing up the rookies. Some of them had a reputation for being thuggish idiots who spent more time in detention than class – I discarded those immediately. What's the point of having a team that spends more time scrubbing classrooms _by hand _than flying?

I was distracted from my contemplation by the arrival of Thad Nott, our Keeper. He'd been circling the pitch on his broom while I'd been giving the evil eye to everyone on the ground, doing recon on the spectators.

"The entire Gryffindor team is here – McLaggen is being too much of a fuckface to actually pay attention to tryouts and is trying to get his game on with the hotter Weasley girl – but Jordan looks like she's taking notes." Thad sniffed, completely dismissive of Jordan's _notes_. "Cohen, Karlsson, Jablonski and McQueen from Ravenclaw are sitting over there, but I think that Jablonski was the only one who didn't bring his homework. Novak and some other Hufflepuffs are here, but I don't think that half of them are actually on the Quidditch team. One of them is… _fuck_, I think that a couple of them are _getting high_."

Typical.

I thanked him and filled him in on what we were doing – Nott's a sixth-year and a shoo-in for captain once Al, Lindsey and I leave. He squinted at the rookies as they finally finished their laps and gathered at the assembly point, sweaty and panting, and shook his head sadly.

I agreed.

"Goyle and Rinaldi, you're out."

Both boys _may _have looked outraged at this rapid dismissal, but I couldn't tell from the way that they were planted flat on their backs on the ground, faces contorted in the most _hilarious _ways as they tried to force air back into their lungs. If you can't last a five or eight lap run around a Quidditch pitch, you won't have enough stamina to last an entire game – which can, technically, run for _hours_.

Al tossed the stopwatch back at me – which I caught – followed by the clipboard – which I didn't, but Nott grabbed for me. Ah. What a Keeper.

Then, it was a matter of divvying them up into groups according to which position they were trying out for and running the drills.

In the end, I only had two cases of broken noses – apparently, Carrabas was using tryouts as a platform for getting revenge on Flint, who'd stolen his girlfriend last year, and Flint's mate Gardner wasn't too pleased with Carrabas after Carrabas very obviously hit a bludger at his friend. Gardner waited until Carrabas had his back turned before hitting a bludger at the hoops – the ball smacked into the metal, bounced off it and gained momentum before smashing into Carrabas's face. Poor boy never saw it coming.

Fourth years.

In the end, I retained Gardner as my partner (I value loyalty and opportunism) and Al found two Chasers that he could run a play with decently well. We even found a reserve Seeker for Lindsey – in all actuality, Dupont is even _better _than Lindsey, because she's a lot smaller (she's a third year and hasn't gotten to her growth spurt yet, I suppose) and faster, but I'm not replacing Lin when she's working perfectly fine with the rest of the team.

Also, I live with her. In the same room. I'd be fucking afraid of going to bed with her in the next one over if I cut her from the team.

As we were packing up, Nott sidled up to me as I shoved a bludger aggressively into its box and strapped it down. Lindsey was a little ways away from me, giving her protégée a brief rundown of her position and training details. "Err, Blair?"

I grunted in response.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade, next Saturday?"

"Yeah. Get down!" I just about knocked him aside as the second bludger came screaming towards us, and dove on top of it, careful not to let it rebound into my face.

"Well, erm. Would you like to have a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Sure. We should probably do some team bonding anyways, so we could have drinks from about five to six, next Saturday. That's a great idea, Nott. Could you let the others know? Thanks." I managed to wrestle the second bludger into the ball box and strap it down as Nott stood there, rather unhelpfully.

"Err, sure. Ok." He sounded a little stunned.

"All right, Nott?" I finally looked up, wiping the sweat from my brow. _God_, these bludgers.

He took a step back. "Yeah – sure. I'll just – yeah. I'll let them know. Thanks, Blair! See you next Saturday."

And he was off.

Lindsey appeared at my side, nudging me away from the box so that she could replace the snitch. "You're a right idiot," she informed me conversationally.

I furrowed my brow. _What_?

"He was asking you out, you lump. And now we've got a team bonding session when I wanted to get my hair done. Thanks."

Oh. I flushed, embarrassed.

"He should've made it obvious!"

Lindsey straightened and rolled her eyes. "He _did _make it obvious. You're just the Queen of the Friendzone. God."

"What's this?" Al arrived, quaffle in hand. "Apparently we have drinks, next week?"

"Yeah. Your cousin has yet to pick up on Nott's _I fancy you _signals and interpreted an invitation to drinks for her as a suggestion for _team bonding_."

Al sniggered as he stowed the quaffle away.

"It's not my _fault_!" Starting to feel slightly defensive, I raised my hands. "And, to be honest, if I haven't noticed any of these alleged signals, then isn't it _clear _that I don't fancy him in that way?"

This time, it was Al who patted me on the back. "It's fine, Captain Beater. I'm sure you could _hit_ on him during practice."

I smacked Al in the throat and got out of there before Lindsey could make a puberty joke again.

* * *

**A/N: It's up! I'm sorry it's taking such a long time; exams are literally around the corner and I _ought _to be spending time catching up on my backlog of readings instead of procrastinating, but, meh. **

**IHateSnakes: Thank you! I hope you like this chapter, too. **

**WhatsTheTimeMrWolf: Thank you! I'd imagine that there's a great deal of swearing happening in a boarding school, away from parents, and there are few people more creative than an irritated teenager with a foul mouth. **


	5. A Foggy Future

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs. **

* * *

"So, Miss Dursley, I see that you're taking a fairly common subject combination. It's quite versatile, but most people who choose these subjects apply for positions as Aurors. Do you aspire to be an Auror?"

I fidgeted a little in my seat as Longbottom browsed through my file. Maybe the Sorting Hat made a mistake in Sorting me into Slytherin, because the height of my ambition now is to win the Quidditch Cup. I hadn't put much thought into getting a job, despite Daddy exhorting me to _think about it_.

"Your grades are generally very good – if you worked a little harder on your DADA and pushed it up to an O, I'd say that you have an excellent chance in making it through to the interview stage."

I cleared my throat. "I'm not particularly sure of what I want to do, Professor, but I'm quite certain that I don't want to be running into death and destruction in return for a salary."

Longbottom put my file aside and steepled his fingers, looking thoughtful. "What about curse breaking?"

"Again, Professor, that thing about _death and destruction_."

"A desk job?"

I winced.

"Quidditch?"

I pursed my lips. That's an interesting option, but only so many people make it. I know that Lindsey's gunning for a spot as Seeker with the Holyhead Harpies, and all of us are living with her stress. I shook my head.

Longbottom sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "We had this discussion almost two years ago, Miss Dursley, and you are no closer to deciding your future now as you were then."

I felt a pang of sympathy for him. It couldn't be easy, trying to shepherd seventeen year olds into figuring out what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives – or, at least, for the next five years. He probably even had to explain what a _career_ is to Goyle. No _wonder_ he looked so exhausted. "I suppose I need more time, Professor. In any case, most applications begin in January. I guess I also should talk to my parents about it." _Can't say I'm looking forward to that_.

Longbottom sighed again and nodded, shifting my file to another stack. "You know where I'll be. If you need another session come January, just let me know. Please send Miss Ouyang in on your way out. Have a good afternoon, Miss Dursley."

I murmured a goodbye and exited the room as rapidly as I could without seeming rude. The future made me nervous.

The hall outside Longbottom's office was lined with a couple of benches – an hour and a half ago, they were filled with Slytherin Seventh-Years. Now, they just served three. Al and Scorp could've gone with the others once they'd cleared their session with Longbottom, but they'd stayed to wait for me.

Sweethearts.

Tapping Lindsey on the shoulder, I jerked my thumb at Longbottom's door before sinking into the seat beside Al. Scorp was splayed out on the bench on the other side of the hallway, completely dead to the world, his precious Herbology essay clutched in a possessive fist. Al, who'd been furiously highlighting his way through his Transfiguration textbook with one of _my _Muggle highlighters, heaved an almighty sigh as I produced a sheaf of parchment from my backpack.

"Are we really going to do this _now_?" he whined, tapping the end of the fluorescent pink marker against his thigh. "I need to deal with this bullshit before MacDougal turns me into a chair. Don't you usually talk to Lindsey about this, anyways?"

"I already did. I just need a second opinion." I squinted at my notes from the Gryffindor tryouts. "Is this an _s _or a _c_ to you? I can't read my own handwriting."

Al huffed and glared at the page. "It depends. Did you mean to call McLaggen a _diskface _or a _dickface_? Because he _does _look like a plate, now that I think about it."

I stopped to consider that for myself. He _did _look pretty squashy, but that was beside the point.

"Shut up. You have a real fucking problem; Jordan got _fucking good _over the summer, and you're flying with a new team. Also, their chasers are seasoned and sneaky as fuck. Nott's fantastic, but there's only so much damage that he can mitigate. Thankfully, their Seeker is still shit, so Lin _could _just get the Snitch before they do. But then we miss an opportunity to rack up as many points as we can for the cup." I paused for breath. "How now, brown cow?"

"What does Lindsey say?"

I pursed my lips and handed him a roughly drawn diagram that was liberally splattered with nail polish from when Lindsey got overexcited about obliterating Gryffindor. Al fished his wand out of his pocket and tapped it to the surface of the diagram, watching as arrows and dots wriggled their way across the page. "Lin included footnotes," I informed him helpfully as text scrolled across the page at certain points of play.

Appalled, Al rewound the gameplay at a point. "Did she suggest ricocheting a Bludger into Dom's _face_?"

I shrugged. "She calls it psychological warfare. At best, Dominique will quit Quidditch altogether, and at worst, she'll be too emotionally scarred to play her role as the backbone of Gryffindor's Chasers. Personally, I reckon that a less brutal way of crippling the team would be to break her nose and pray that it heals crooked, but I can't do that with a Bludger. It would be like trying to perform surgery with a hand-axe."

"Please don't," Al implored faintly. "She's my _cousin_. I have to _see _her. Constantly. And all the other houses would hate us again."

True.

Al scribbled out Lin's footnote on Dominique Weasley before handing the diagram back to me. "Lindsey is crazy. But she's right that our best bet is to run interference on the Chasers before they even reach Nott. That'll be up to you and Gardner, but for Merlin's sake, _try _not to maim any of my cousins."

I rolled my eyes and shovelled my stack of parchment back into my bag. The three Gryffindor Chasers were all Weasleys: Dominique, Hugo, and Roxanne. Hugo was pretty chill (… or, at least, he was pretty chill as compared to his sister), and Dom's main concerns in life were Quidditch and her hair. Roxanne, however, was a Class A bitch who thought that she was cooler than everyone else because she was _so witty_.

She was _not_.

So, yeah. Not to be vindictive, but _no promises! _

I checked my wristwatch and got to my feet just as Lindsey stepped out of Longbottom's office, looking more sour than usual. I raised an eyebrow as Al glanced at his own watch and swore before zapping Scorp with a mild stinging hex to wake him up.

Scowling, Lin began stomping down the corridor to Transfiguration, which all four of us were pretty much late for. I left Al to handle Scorp while I fell into step with her.

"Longbottom still asking you about Plan B?"

"There _is _no Plan B," she snapped. "I'm going to make it to a Quidditch team. I don't know _why _he's so hung up on me applying to the Ministry or whatever. Does he really think that I won't get to play Seeker on a professional level?"

Scorp must have checked the time for himself, because there was an explosion of swearing from behind us as the boys hurried to catch up.

Lindsey turned around to holler at them to hurry the fuck up before turning back to me, eyes blazing. "We need to win, Blair. I need you to captain us to a win. Don't fuck us all up."

_Whoa_. No pressure.

And then Lin was stomping away, expending her frustration with the world on hapless third years unfortunate enough to wander into her path.

Al and Scorp sidled up beside me once she was gone. "Real charmer, isn't she?" Scorp asked conversationally. "Really makes you wonder how your father could've fancied someone who'd grow up to spawn _that_."

Al made a face. "He was fifteen, mate. Everybody has lapses in judgment. Like you. You've had, what, about fifty of them?"

Scorpius winced and changed the subject. "So, are you any closer to Getting Your Act Together, Blair?"

_Merlin's balls. _

"No. When are you telling your father that you're applying to the Healer's Academy?"

Al sniggered as Scorpius winced again as his attempt to redirect the conversation backfired. "When my DADA grades improve. They're just going to laugh at my A; and then Father is going to laugh at _me_."

"You know, you could just let your father hear about it and pull a couple of strings."

The look that Scorpius directed at Al was ferocious enough to stop him in his tracks. "If I can't get an O for Defence, then I don't deserve to be a Healer. Would you feel comfortable with letting someone who got half-arsed grades poke around inside you with a wand?"

Al flushed, but he didn't lower his gaze. "You know it's not that I don't think you're capable," he said steadily. "But I think it's ridiculous that people seem to think that it's acceptable for the course of your life to be dictated by your academic ability. It's great for people who _are _academically brilliant, like Rose, or her mother. But I know that you'll be a great Healer regardless of what you get for DADA at the end of the year, and unlike you, I'm not averse to making use of the opportunities available to ensure that you get the job you want."

Scorpius's expression softened, but not by much. "Either way, you'd better get cracking on your Transfig, _Potter_. Everybody knows that the Aurors only take the best – and everybody will know how you got in if your grades are anything _but_."

For the second time in so many minutes, I had a friend stalk away from me in a blaze of fury.

My cousin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as we stood in the middle of an increasingly crowded corridor. I slid an arm around his shoulders. "It's different for him," I told him quietly as I began herding him forward. We really _were _late for class. "The Malfoys have spent _centuries _tugging on strings and playing the world like puppets, and look how they turned out in the Second War. He wants to distance himself from all that – surely you can understand?"

Al's shoulders sagged. "Yeah. He's got more issues than Witch Weekly. But I wish that he'd deal with them instead of cutting and running."

I shrugged again – I seemed to be doing a lot of that, lately – and squeezed him tight before letting go and setting a slightly faster pace. "The Malfoy name comes with just as much baggage as the Potter one, and the only difference is that theirs is tainted with murder and torture and corruption and shit. So try not to push the issue, yeah?"

He made a non-committal sound and glanced down at his watch again before breaking into a sprint, effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

We _were_ late for class, and Albus _did_ get Transfigured into a chair. Scorp deigned to reverse it with a poke that was _slightly _less vicious than it could have been, though, so at least he was over the argument in the hallway. I was usually paired up with Lindsey, because Corinth didn't take Transfiguration at NEWT level, but she hadn't even showed up – I was willing to bet my broomstick that she'd been out on the pitch, running drills.

I wasn't in the game to win for Lindsey's sake. But the fact that she had so much riding on my success did up the ante. From what I'd gathered (from Corinth, mostly), her mother had cut a deal with her: if she didn't secure a spot in a Quidditch team by the time we left Hogwarts, she'd end up chained to a desk at the Wizarding Examinations Authority, charming quills to be Anti-Cheating under her mother's supervision.

Fun.

I found her lying on her bed in her pyjamas when I went back to the dormitories to drop my books off before dinner. She was clearly freshly showered – her hair was more _wet _than _damp_, as evidenced by the growing pool of moist pillow beneath her head – and she was staring blankly up at the ceiling in a very un-Lindsey-like manner.

Something looked different about Lindsey's space.

Corinth, who'd been silently reorganising her closet, caught my look of confusion and jerked her head towards a crumpled-up ball of glossy paper tossed into a corner of the room. A hand enthusiastically waving a broomstick around was just visible from where I stood.

Ah. Lindsey's Holyhead Harpies poster, which normally hung above her bedside table, was no more.

I crossed the room warily, kicking the balled-up poster under my own closet. "Lin? Are you alright?"

In response, she threw another balled up piece of parchment in my direction, which I barely managed to catch (…. it was a terrible throw – she hadn't even _aimed_). A fist clenched in my chest as I smoothed the parchment out and read the polite, typewritten rejection note on it. She'd probably gotten it at breakfast and stewed on it all day. _Poor Lindsey_.

"They don't need any new players," Lindsey croaked suddenly, and I saw Corinth halt in the act of folding a set of lacy purple underwear. "I was so confident about getting in – I, I didn't apply to any others. A lot of the tryouts were during the summer. I just sent out more applications, but what if it's too late?"

I crumpled the rejection letter back into a ball and tossed it under my wardrobe with the poster. "They always send scouts to the games," I reminded her, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll impress them. You'll impress them."

Lindsey turned away and buried her face in her wet pillow without a sound.

I glanced over at Corinth, who had clearly given up on reorganising things and had shoved the rest of her clothes into her closet without folding them. Expression grim, she grabbed her wand, gesturing to the door.

"We can bring back an apple or a sandwich or something for her later," she whispered as we slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind us. "She was already catatonic when I came in, and she didn't make a sound for, like, an hour. Can't we ask Al's mother to talk to a couple of people? She used to play for the Harpies, right?"

I shook my head. "Aunt Ginny hasn't played for them in _years_, and while she's a Quidditch correspondent, she doesn't have as much pull as you'd think. Lin's got to get this on her own. What was she thinking, only applying to _one _Quidditch club?"

Corinth looked more regretful than I'd ever seen her. "I suppose that she didn't want to consider the possibility that what she'd wanted for so long didn't want her back. The only thing that feels worse than failure to achieve a dream is not wanting one."

_Not quite_, I thought, as we slid the dungeon wall aside and began climbing up to the Great Hall. _There's also wanting to want something but having no idea what it is. _But it isn't fair to compare abstract feelings like that, so I just pushed it aside and began planning icebreakers to play during our bonding session on Saturday at Hogsmeade. We all needed a distraction from job-hunting.

* * *

**A/N: I'm SO SORRY that it's taken so long for me to get this up! There were exams, and then there were holidays, and then there was school again - everything seems to be moving too fast to deal with. Either way, I'm hoping that this chapter kind of makes up for the long wait! **

**But, some things to note: **

**Bad news: this is going to be a _terrible s_emester for me, because I've got a lot of deadlines and I want to end my university run in a blaze of academic glory. Unfortunately for Blair, however, that means that I will not be able to update regularly, because I have to spend more time on my readings than writing fanfiction. I apologise deeply - trust me, I'd rather spend my time in Blair's head instead of writing case briefs. So, to my 11 followers: I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY YOU HAVE TO WAIT. You deserve better than this, and I will write like a Writing Fiend once my exams are over (my last one is on the 21st of April - I've got a countdown going). **

**Good news: I will _definitely _finish this story. I've got the entire outline for _Magic Tricks _planned out, so really, it's just a matter of writing it out and doing it justice. It may take a while, but it will be done. I promise. I make an unbreakable vow. It shall be done. **

**To my constant, encouraging reviewers IHS and WhatsTheTimeMrWolf: you guys are the best. Please don't give up on Blair and I; we'll get it done. And I owe you guys butterbeer. So much butterbeer. **


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